


Affettuoso

by gandmvsm



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety Attacks, M/M, Underage Drinking, Violinist!Victor, Violist!Yuuri, everyone is an adult but since they're in the us gotta add, phichit is the victuuri captain we all need, the least surprising tag in any yuuri-centric fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9338372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandmvsm/pseuds/gandmvsm
Summary: Victor Nikiforov had been raised in the world of classical music, was born breathing in Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, a tiny violin tucked under his chin before he could walk and talk. It was no wonder that he was a prodigy - how could he not be, when every moment of his life was centered around music?Katsuki Yuuri was no such prodigy, but had been driven since the age of 10 by one goal: "I want to perform with him."(Or, the one where Yuuri is a music performance major with anxiety to spare, Yuri Plisetsky is a bitter second violinist, Victor makes everything look easy, and Phichit is a Good Friend.)





	1. Allegro ma non troppo

Victor Nikiforov had been raised in the world of classical music, was born breathing in Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky, a tiny violin tucked under his chin before he could walk and talk. It was no wonder that he was a prodigy - how could he not be, when every moment of his life was centered around music? His father had been a famous conductor, his mother a concert pianist, and a great-grandfather had even been a well-known luthier. To this day a Nikiforov violin or cello could fetch almost a million dollars at auction.

His public performances were all chronicled on YouTube, so any fan could watch him grow from chubby 7-year-old to stunning 21-year-old, from clumsy attempts at Mozart to sparkling renditions of Beethoven. He’d made his professional solo debut at 14, won his first international competition at 15, released his first studio album at 18. Him attending college was a formality at best, but one his mother had insisted on.

Victor Nikiforov became an ever-present figure in Katsuki Yuuri’s life when the boy was 10 years old. He and his studiomate Yuuko had been relaxing during a fifteen minute rehearsal break, flipping through Livejournal and Youtube together.

“Look at this, Yuuri!” Yuuko had said, and turned her laptop screen in Yuuri’s direction. “His name is Victor Nikiforov and he’s only _twelve_!”

Yuuri was awestruck. Not only by how _beautiful_ the boy on the screen looked with his long hair and deep red suit, but by how amazing his playing was. Everyone in the orchestra accompanying him looked years older, but Yuuri could tell that they didn’t have half the shine Victor did.

Suddenly his viola lessons seemed more important than ever before. He spent hours a day practicing, tuning octaves and perfecting his brush strokes and neglecting his homework as often as possible.

“What’s gotten into you lately, Yuuri?” Yuuko had asked. Yuuri had shot ahead of her in their youth orchestra, now sitting in the first or second chair every concert despite being one of the youngest members.

As the two of them had watched yet another video of Victor’s playing, Yuuri finally said aloud the thought that had been driving him.

_Someday I want to perform with him._

\---

“Yuuri?” Phichit glanced up from his Tumblr as he heard the dorm room open. “How’d it go?”

Yuuri didn’t answer. He opted instead for dropping his backpack on the ground near his desk and falling just as lifelessly face first onto his bed.

Phichit winced. “That good, huh?”

“I bombed literally every sixteenth note run,” Yuuri said, voice muffled by his pillow. “The Shostakovich was the only excerpt I even made it through.”

“Even with the banana trick?”

“Phichit, if beta blockers can barely get me through a concert, how is a little potassium going to get me through an audition?”

Phichit made a sympathetic sound and went back to his phone, pulling up his Instagram feed. Their orchestra’s principal bassist had posted the low string seating assignments (captioned with several “100” emojis), and if Phichit zoomed in enough he could juuust catch a glimpse of the viola section.

He let out a low whistle of disbelief before he could stop himself. “Last stand?”

Yuuri raised his head enough to glare ineffectually in Phichit’s direction. His eyes looked red, and his glasses were smudged and damp.

“Oh shit, sorry, Yuuri.” He switched his phone screen off and walked to Yuuri’s side of the room. He took Yuuri’s glasses off of him and placed them carefully on the desk, and Yuuri slammed his face back into the pillow.

A lot of thoughts raced through Yuuri’s head, like _Every single freshman did better than me_ and _What am I even doing at this school_ , but what came out of his mouth was just “Last _fucking_ stand.”

“I know, I know, Yuuri, shhh,” Phichit said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He played with the ends of Yuuri’s hair, something that usually at least brought Yuuri back to the present. “Do you want anything? Tea? Blanket? The hamsters?”

 _For a meteorite to crash through the ceiling and kill me._ “Tea.”

“I’ll go get some water.”

To his credit, Yuuri managed to wait until Phichit had left the room to full-on sob into his pillow.

\---

Because no god took pity and put him out of his misery, Yuuri was literally dragged to the first orchestra rehearsal. Phichit held his clarinet case in one hand and Yuuri’s upper arm in the other as they walked to the rehearsal building.

“Listen, auditions are done for the term, there’s nothing to worry about,” Phichit said brightly. “Just focus on rehearsing. You’ll kill it next semester!”

 _If I’m even a student here next semester_ , Yuuri thought. He rebalanced the weight of his viola case on his shoulder and contemplated buying an airplane ticket home right then and there.

The room was noisy as always when the two walked in. A cacophony of sounds filled the space, some combination of them almost passing for musical as the students warmed up. Phichit finally let go of Yuuri’s arm, knowing that he wouldn’t risk drawing more attention to himself by leaving. Yuuri glanced around the room for an empty spot to set down his case and unpack.

He recognized most of the people in the room now that he was a sophomore. His fellow violists were all familiar to him, of course, and he at least knew the faces of most of the violinists and cellists. He even thought he recognized the bassoonist Phichit was chattering away with - Otabek was his name, maybe? Since Yuuri sat in front of the winds and brass their names weren’t as familiar to him.

There were some people - freshmen, probably - Yuuri didn’t recognize at all, of course. The loudest person in the room was one such person. Up front towards the conductor’s podium, a small blond kid was shouting (shouting!) at Maestro Feltsman. Though Yuuri didn’t mean to eavesdrop, the open wall space he’d found wasn’t far enough away for the surrounding din to drown out their conversation.

“-some _bullshit_ , Yakov, you know I’m good enough to be a first violin!”

“If you don’t want to be principal second, I’ll give it to someone who does and you can sit in the back of the firsts,” Maestro Feltsman said calmly, though his face was turning an alarming shade of red. “Now sit down, Yuri.”

The blond boy (Yuri?) _tch_ -ed dismissively. Yuuri couldn’t help but stare at the blatant disrespect. “Fine! But Victor’s not going to be concertmaster forever. Wait until next semester!”

“I’ll look forward to your audition.” Yuuri recognized the vein twitching on the side of Maestro Feltsman’s neck as a final warning sign before he blew up at whatever idiocy was going on in front of him.

Yuri threw himself into the principal second violin chair and dropped a folder of music roughly onto the stand. Then suddenly he looked up and made eye contact with Yuuri, who was still staring like an idiot. The other Yuri’s lip curled upwards into a snarl, and Yuuri hastily looked away and busied himself with rosining his bow.

“Yuri.”

Yuuri raised his head again, searching for whoever was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened when he saw Victor Nikiforov standing only a few feet away from him. “You really should treat your instructors with more respect.” _Oh, the other Yuri_ , he realized. It should have been obvious. Why would the legendary violinist even know his name? Still, Yuuri felt something in his chest sink at the realization.

“You’re one to talk! I’ve heard Yakov cursing at you so many times-”

“Have I ever provoked him in front of my peers?”

By now Yuuri had finished unpacking. He stood awkwardly for a moment, trying to spot the easiest way to his seat in the back of the viola section from here. Unfortunately whatever way he went, he would have to pass by Victor. Before he could somehow psych himself out of it, he started walking. “Excuse me,” he muttered as he slipped by.

When he reached his seat, he took a moment to silently celebrate that he’d sounded normal the first time he spoke to his idol. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a conversation, but there was nothing in that interaction to be embarrassed of. He fiddled with his sheet music, putting it in rehearsal order and making sure he’d actually written down the fingerings he’d worked out for the Beethoven the evening before.

He glanced up and noticed Victor staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

\---

Yuuri left the library that night in a music theory-induced haze. Knowing all the basic chords and intervals had been hard enough without adding in even more chords that he couldn’t keep track of and composition exercises that kept getting harder and harder. On nights he didn’t lock himself in a practice room until the building closed, he locked himself in the library until _that_ building closed.

He was distracted enough going over the last few measures of his homework in his head that he didn’t notice the figure in front of him until it was too late. He collided directly with the older student’s back. “Sorry,” he muttered.

The figure turned around, and _of course_ it had to be Victor Nikiforov. Yuuri resigned himself to the fact that the universe hated him and would never let him catch a break. He felt Victor’s eyes on him as he started to back up. Luckily his brain caught up with his mouth before he could start babbling out apologies, limiting him to just another “sorry.”

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder for the blond Yuri he knew from orchestra. When he saw no one behind him, he turned back to Victor. “Me?”

“Yuuri Katsuki, right?”

He nodded. _Victor Nikiforov knows my name!? Is this a dream?_

“I’ve been looking for you, actually,” Victor said, and Yuuri was now positive this was a dream. He must have fallen asleep in the library, or maybe he hit his head and was in the hospital. Maybe he’d died and this was what heaven was like.

Yuuri yanked himself to reality as he realized Victor wasn’t done speaking. “-heard you practicing earlier. You’re a wonderful violist. Why are you in the back of your section?”

Yuuri could feel blood rushing to his face. _Victor just called me ‘wonderful.’_ “Nerves,” he said simply. “I’ve never done well at auditions.”

“And yet you earned a merit scholarship here.” Victor brought a hand to his chin in thought. Yuuri’s eyes were fixed on the finger he pressed to his lips. “I wouldn’t want stage fright to get in the way of your potential."

And then suddenly, Victor had reached out and grabbed both of Yuuri’s shoulders. “Let me help you!” he said, eyes shining. “Starting today, I’ll be your coach!”

By some miracle, Yuuri didn’t pass out on the spot.

\---

“So you ran into your lifelong love Victor outside the library, and not only does he know who you are, he offers to _coach_ you?” Phichit didn’t look up from his frantic scribbling on his staff paper, but Yuuri could tell from the rise and fall of his voice that he was hungry for every detail.

“I didn’t loan you my partwriting homework so you could copy it, you know,” Yuuri said.

“It’s due in seven hours and I don’t even have a bassline, and quit dodging the question, Yuuri.”

“I wouldn’t call it _offering_ so much as demanding,” Yuuri said. “He basically told me that he was going to be my coach whether I wanted it or not.”

“And what did you say?” Phichit erased a few notes toward the end of his composition. “Did you tell him that you could use some ‘coaching’ tonight? Because if he’s on his way over I can always go crash with Seung Gil or someone.”

“What? No!” Yuuri said, horrified. “I told him I needed some time to talk it over with Celestino first and that I’d text him tomorrow about it.”

“Like Ciao Ciao is going to stand in the way of you and Victor- text him?” Phichit stared at Yuuri. “ _You have Victor Nikiforov’s number?_ ”

“Yes?” Yuuri said, taken a little aback by Phichit’s sudden intensity.

“Let me see your phone.”

“Hey! No!” Yuuri tried to hold the phone behind his back, but with little success. Phichit swiped it from him and unlocked it (“You really should change your passcode, Yuuri!”) before hiding the screen from view. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Phichit said sweetly. He handed the phone back.

“You texted Victor, didn’t you.”

“I would never,” Phichit said gravely, fooling absolutely no one.

Yuuri sighed and opened his messaging app. Sure enough, one sent message at 12:58 am - ‘plz be my coach!!!’ - with a checkmark indicating it had been delivered. And then suddenly, the checkmark flipped to blue. _Shit, he’s still awake!_

“See if I let you copy my theory homework ever again,” Yuuri said as he snatched the piece of paper off of Phichit’s desk. He stared in mild horror at the ‘Victor is typing…’ bubble that had appeared on screen.

_Victor: yes!!! do u want to meet tomorrow somewhere?_

Yuuri shoved the phone back at Phichit. “You answer him.”

“He’s going to be coaching _you!_ ”

“I don’t think I can type right now."

Phichit’s gaze fell to Yuuri’s shaking hands. He smiled and took the phone. “Dibs on best man at your wedding.”

“There’s no wedding!” Yuuri protested as Phichit turned his attention to the conversation.

“Thank me later, Katsuki.”

_Yuuri is typing…_

_Yuuri: i have class until 130 but after that im free. meet at the cafe on college ave?_

_Victor: violin lesson until 2 :/ u free then?_

_Yuuri: yeah ofc! see you tomorrow!_

_Victor: its a date )))_

\---

At exactly 1:53 pm the next day, Phichit put a $5 bill in Yuuri’s hands, patted him firmly on the back, and shoved him out of their dorm room before closing and locking the door.

“Phichit, my keys are still on my desk.”

“Good! That means you can’t chicken out and come back in here!”

The coffee shop was a six-minute walk from their dorm, so Yuuri had no choice but to go straight there if he didn’t want to be late. The trip was short enough that he couldn’t get too far in his own head to talk himself out of it, but not so short that he couldn’t at least rehearse his coffee order - medium hazelnut latte, 2% milk, extra shot of espresso.

He glanced around the cafe when he first entered, but didn’t spot any world-famous violinists waiting for him. Pulling out his phone, he noticed the time was 2:00 on the dot. If Victor really was in a lesson until then, he had a few more minutes to wait. There wasn’t much line at this time of day, so he was able to order and receive his coffee in short order, dropping the change he received in the tip jar.

He found a table towards the back of the cafe and made himself comfortable. Yuuri took a sip and had just pulled out his phone to kill time when he noticed someone join him at the table. He looked up nervously, only to have to adjust his gaze downwards. Instead of Victor, the blond second violinist Yuri had aggressively occupied the other chair at the table. His legs were spread wide, taking up his entire half of the table and some of Yuuri’s as well.

Yuri took a sip of an iced coffee. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Yuuri blinked at him.

“You’re here to meet with Victor, aren’t you?” He shifted in his seat to lean in very close to Yuuri. “Maybe you should just leave, since he’s already meeting with _me_. What could some last-chair violist learn from him anyway?”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Both students turned their heads to look at the source of the voice. Victor Nikiforov was standing at the table and had just set down a mug of something. He beamed. “Ah, Yuri, I see you’ve met Yuuri!”

“He has my name!?” Yuri spat in some mixture of surprise and disgust.

Victor seemed preoccupied with pulling up a chair from a nearby table. He took a seat (with perfect posture, Yuuri noticed) and directed his attention at Yuri. “I don’t remember inviting you for coffee.”

“You don’t remember _anything_ , asshole,” Yuri said. “Last summer you said you’d help me with competition prescreenings once the semester started. News flash, the semester started and I have to find out from some _bassoonist_ that you’re off meeting with washed-up upperclassmen?!”

 _Oh god, Phichit told people about this_. Yuuri took another nervous sip of his drink, hoping the two would forget he was there.

“That does sound like something I would do,” Victor said thoughtfully. “Luckily, I think my solution will work for both of you. But first!” He focused his gaze now on Yuuri. “I’m glad you’re here, Yuuri! I’m so sorry you had to deal with this kitten without me.”

 _Solution? Kitten?_ Yuuri took a second too long to process his response. “So you two know each other?” he said weakly.

Victor seemed amused. “Yes, Yuri and I been studiomates for quite some time. He likes to call himself the hidden tiger of violin. He’s got plenty of talent, but his social skills are a bit lacking, so I guess he is a bit like there.”

Yuri looked ready to strangle Victor, or Yuuri, or maybe both. “Can we just get _on_ with this? I need to go warm up.”

Again, Yuuri got the feeling he was missing half a conversation. “Are you going to be coaching Yuri, then?”

“Yes and no.” Victor reached into the bag he’d set by his chair and pulled out two paperclipped piles of photocopies. He handed one to Yuri and one to Yuuri and gave them a moment to look at the pages.

Yuuri started to read the title. “‘[Passacaglia in G minor](https://youtu.be/dZawzc8HJio?t=18s)’-”

“-’for violin and viola.’ Victor, what the _fuck_ is this?”

“Exactly what you just read.” Victor was smiling again - his mouth looked almost heart-shaped, Yuuri noticed. “I was thinking about working on this as an encore, but I want to see what you two can do with it first.”

“You want me to play with _him_?” the two said in unison, Yuri’s furious energy matching Yuuri’s shock.

Victor was delighted. “It’s Tuesday today, so let’s get together on Saturday and see what you can do!”

Yuri began arguing animatedly with Victor, but Yuuri didn’t pay attention to what they were saying. His mind had become preoccupied with the sheet music in front of him. The first few pages didn’t look too awful, a few chords that would need practice, but as he flipped through it the amount of black ink kept growing. This ended _fast_ , he realized with dread. And Victor expected him to be able to play this by Saturday?

The sound of a chair sliding backwards jolted Yuuri out of the sheet music. Yuri had angrily shoved himself away from the table and grabbed his coffee. “You’re not as amazing as you think you are, _Vitya_ ,” he snarled as a farewell.

Victor waited until Yuri had slammed the cafe door behind him with an unthreatening bell announcing his departure before turning back to Yuuri. “He’s always like that. I hope you can get used to it.”

Yuuri offered a smile that he hoped didn’t look terrified. “And I’m going to play a duet with him?”

“I hope so. I picked that piece out with you in mind.”

It was a good thing Yuuri wasn’t drinking at that moment, or he might have spat his latte out onto Victor’s face. As it was he still choked a little bit on his spit. _With me in mind!?_

“It’s one of the few duets with viola that actually has an equal balance. Most composers, the violin dominates and the viola gets a nice bassline and maybe a countermelody. You get equal time to shine here.” Victor rested his hand on Yuuri’s wrist as he continued. “You have the skill and vision to convince anyone of what you play.”

Yuuri was about to drown in Victor’s words. Yesterday, he didn’t even have the nerve to speak to Victor, and today he’s getting coffee with him while Victor tells him how wonderful he is? Maybe God had taken him up on that meteorite request after all.

“What you’re missing,” Victor went on, noticing the disbelief on Yuuri’s face, “is _confidence_. No one will follow you if even you don’t have faith in what you play.”

“Easy for Victor Nikiforov to say,” Yuuri muttered. He then turned beet red when he realized that wasn’t in his head. “I mean-!”

“So you see my point, then,” Victor teased. ‘Who better to help you with your stage presence?”

His thumb was running over Yuuri’s knuckles, Yuuri realized belatedly, and he jerked his hand out of Victor’s grip. He could feel himself blushing and god, this was so much more embarrassing of a meeting than he could have ever imagined. Ten minutes of conversation with his idol, and his flaws were all laid bare. The last thing he wanted was to play anything for Victor when it was so _obvious_ he had no idea what he was doing, had no place at this school, had no idea why he thought music performance was the career for him.

“I have to go,” he said suddenly. He clutched the sheet music in his hand as he slowly, deliberately walked away from the table.

“I’ll see you Saturday?” Victor asked over his shoulder.

Gathering most of his courage, Yuuri nodded and smiled stiffly. And when Victor smiled back at him, Yuuri was sure he was about to melt into the floor.

\---

_Victor Nikiforov created the group ‘passacaglia.’_

_Victor Nikiforov added you._

_Victor Nikiforov added Yuri Plisetsky._

_Victor: gonna be a little late today!_

_ Victor: start w/o me and ill coach what you put together ))) _

_ Yuri: fuck you _

_ \--- _

“So Victor’s going to be late, huh?” Yuuri said, setting his viola case on a table against the rehearsal room’s wall.

“Typical,” Yuri muttered around a pencil in his mouth. His hair was pulled back in a half-ponytail and he was carefully adjusting the height of one of the music stands in the room with one hand, his violin and bow gripped in the other. Satisfied, he set the pencil down on the stand before raising the violin to his chin and bowing the open strings.

Yuuri had never known that tuning could be such an  _ angry _ activity. He quickly finished tightening his bow and sliding on his shoulder rest. Placing his copied music on the stand Yuri hadn’t claimed, he noticed that the metal pole didn’t seem fully screwed into the base - if he so much as breathed on one side or the other, the stand would rock dramatically.

“Did you go out of your way to grab me a stand that was this shitty?” Yuuri asked as he put the pieces of paper in order.

“Like I’d go out of my way to do anything for you, Katsuki.”

“Well, can I get your A?”

Yuri rolled his eyes as he sounded his A string. Yuuri softly played his own open A, making small adjustments until the pitches matched. He quickly tuned his other strings in fifths.

“How fast do you want to go?”

“How fast can you play?”

Not that fast, if Yuuri was going to be honest. He’d spent several hours on this piece with a metronome and even brought some of the variations to his lesson, but he was nowhere near the lively  _ Molto energico  _ or fiery  _ Allegro con fuoco  _ the music called for. But there was no reason to let the younger Yuri know that. “You start, I’ll keep up.”

“In your dreams, ham fingers,” Yuri said. He cued a single beat of prep before they were off.

The theme was marked  _ Largamente _ , broadly, but the tempo and attitude with which Yuri attacked his opening double-stops was far too biting. Yuuri, starting off with the supporting bassline, tried to play as gently as he could to rein him in, but there didn’t seem to be any stopping him.  _ Con agilita _ was more ferocious than agile, with Yuri taking his virtuosic passages at breakneck pace. Yuuri’s fingers could keep pace, but his instrument simply didn’t respond quickly enough to generate anything more powerful than a hoarse whisper.

By  _ un poco marcato _ , there wasn’t anything “slightly marchlike” to either of their playing. Yuri was glaring at his music like it had personally murdered his family, and only by playing with machine-gun precision and volume could he avenge them. Yuuri could feel his control of his bouncing bowstroke slipping, but he was determined to hang on, to match Yuri note for note.

The slow, lyrical  _ andante _ gave Yuuri the breathing room he needed. Expansive melodies were his bread and butter, and he seized control of the piece back from the violin. Even as Yuri tried his best to push the tempo, Yuuri refused to engage, instead pulling back and lingering at the peak of a particularly rich chord.

For the first time in several minutes of playing, Yuri and Yuuri made eye contact. Yuri looked ready to strangle Yuuri; Yuuri raised his eyebrows in a challenge as he brought the musical phrase to a slow ending. Yuri nearly ripped the strings off his violin in the next variation, entirely  _ pizzicato _ . The larger, more resonant viola had the advantage in volume when plucking the strings, but Yuri seemed determined to make up for his violin’s difference in sheer force.

If the piece had started as a duet, it was going to end as a duel. Yuri kept dialing the speed up and up, fingers and bow flying as he nailed arpeggio after arpeggio. Yuuri tried his best, but his technique just wasn’t there - his fingers eventually stumbled over themselves and the music ground to a halt.

Yuri lowered his violin and smirked at Yuuri, clearly the winner of their battle. He was in the process of pulling off the bowhairs he’d broken when a voice spoke from near the entrance.

“What a  _ unique _ interpretation of Handel!” Victor said, wearing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I never knew chamber music was so competitive!”

“You over your hangover yet, asshole?” Yuri taunted.

“I thought I was, but for some reason my headache is back,” Victor said cheerfully. “Luckily I have a few ideas to get rid of it. Yuri.”

When both Yuri and Yuuri turned their head to him, Victor sighed. “One of you needs to change your name. Yuri-” he pointed at the violinist “-you’ll be Yurio.”

“What!? Why do I have to change  _ my _ name!?”

“Yurio, you’re not playing opposite a violin. A viola is bigger and less responsive, and you need to give Yuuri the space to make a clear sound.”

Yurio muttered something about “bigger and less responsive, all right” that Yuuri decided he didn’t actually want to hear.

“And Yuuri, you’re at a disadvantage since your sound will never cut through as brightly. You can’t give the violin an  _ inch _ or your audience won’t know you’re even there.”

_ Because I’m such a memorable presence anyway _ . Yuuri nodded and scribbled some performance directions to himself at the top of the first page - ‘Take what’s yours’ - as if he could ever trick himself into following them.

“From the top?” Victor perched himself on the table against the wall. “I’ll count you off,” he said, tapping a full four beats of prep at ( _ thank God _ ) a reasonable tempo.

\---

Two hours later, they’d finally made it past the first page. Victor had stopped them so many times with comments of “Yuuri, you need to make enough sound to support the melody” and “Yurio, in case you forgot,  _ dolce _ means sweet, not murderous” that his status in Yuuri’s mind as ‘idol’ had started to erode into ‘pain in the ass.’

“You two could pretend you like each other, you know!” had been one of Victor’s coaching points during one never-ending passage, and for the first time when the two made eye contact with each other they’d had a common goal. Sure, the goal may have been murdering Victor so the godawful rehearsal could end, but it was a start.

Finally, Victor seemed to notice the performers’ exhaustion. “Let’s call it here,” he said. “Yuuri, posture.”

Yuuri pulled himself out of his slouch and took a few deep breaths as he loosened his bow. He was already so drained and it was barely noon. Was this what it took to be as good as Victor? No, it must take even more. How many hours a day did he practice? And that was with years of experience on Yuuri - he must look like a complete novice compared to Victor.

The two crossed paths as Yuuri walked to his case while Victor went to join Yurio. Victor placed a hand on Yuuri’s left shoulder and gently applied pressure where it met the base of his neck. As the tension suddenly released, Yuuri bit his lip to stifle a groan of pleasure.

“If you need a massage, Yuuri, I’d like to think I’m pretty good at it,” Victor said quietly in his ear. And then, god help him, Victor  _ winked _ .

Grateful that his back was turned, Yuuri hurriedly put his viola back in its case. He spared a glance over his shoulder as he left the room. Victor was standing behind Yurio but leaning around him to mark something in his part. And seeing Victor practically wrapped around someone else filled Yuuri’s stomach with something like lead.

Even if it was obviously platonic.

Even if Yuuri and Victor had only had about three-quarters of a conversation.

Even if Yuuri was nothing more than one of Victor’s pet projects.

\---

Rehearsals continued every weekend, with progress moving at a glacial pace. Yurio had finally yielded on the tempo, though his violin’s piercing timbre meant that Yuuri had to work twice as hard for half the sound. The strain of fighting with his duet partner week after week meant that no matter how in sync they played, no matter how well they tried to hand the lead back and forth, they still sounded more like they wanted to kill each other than play music together.

To make matters worse, Yuuri still didn’t have the technical ability to match Yurio in some variations. Though they were supposed to mirror each other’s bounced strokes, Yuuri’s bow kept skittering off the string. Celestino, his viola professor, had helped him manage a ricochet stroke once or twice in lessons, but when under any sort of pressure his control slipped and the sound was lost.

(Victor had, of course, offered some hands-on coaching. Yuuri had forcibly grabbed his phone out of Phichit’s hands just before he sent back a winky face and an eggplant emoji. )

_ Phichit: I thought u were in love with him _

_ Phichit: And now u dont even want “””private lessons””” _

_ Yuuri: I’d take him up on it if he was serious _

_ Phichit: idk yuuri _

_ Phichit: someone who sends that many emojis has to be a little serious _

_ Yuuri: You sent me like fifteen ring emojis after I did your harmonic analysis all last semester but I noticed we’re still not married _

_ Phichit: i told u _

_ Phichit: once u pick a color scheme i can plan the rest _

“Oi.”

Yuuri looked up from his phone to see Yurio examining his fingernails. Oh right, rehearsal. Victor had left the two of them to their own devices for a little while - he’d texted something about getting coffee, which the two knew by now was Victor-speak for “too hungover to move.”

Yuuri mumbled an apology and joined him at the paired stands. Even Yurio made him feel so undeserving of people’s time. What good was musical intuition if he didn’t have the skill to play what he heard in his head? When Yuri played, there wasn’t a note out of tune or a misaligned stroke in sight. If anyone could pull off a perfect ricochet, of course it would be Yurio-

-and then, in a disgusting moment of clarity, Yuuri realized what he needed to do. Swallowing what little pride he still had, he asked, “Yurio?”

“It’s  _ Yuri _ .”

Okay, bad start. “Yuri, you know your bowstroke in the  _ saltando _ variation?”

“The one you keep fucking up?”

“Could you help me with it?”

Clearly, that was not the question Yurio was expecting. He lifted his gaze from his fingernails to look at Yuuri. “Sure,” he said, then looked surprised by his own response. “Go on, like you’re going to start the down bow.”

Yuuri lifted his viola and positioned his bow above the strings.

“Not that high, idiot, or you’re just going to skid,” Yurio said. “How are you going to play fast if you’re bouncing centimeters off the string every note? And higher in the bow or you’ll get stuck”

Yuuri lowered his arm slightly and aligned the strings with a part of his bow closer to the tip, away from his right hand. Yurio nodded.

“Now just throw your bow down.”

And Yuuri tried, but his bow gave a few halfhearted bounces before sliding off-target toward his bridge.

“You’re too cautious about it. It’s supposed to ricochet, not collapse. Here,” Yurio said as he slipped past the stands in between them. He placed his left hand on Yuuri’s upper arm and his right on Yuuri’s wrist. “So your bow is  _ here _ -” he positioned Yuuri’s arm “ - just before you want to start the stroke. And then when you’re ready to go, you  _ throw _ .”

Yurio tossed his arm almost but not quite straight down onto the strings. At the same time, he lifted Yuuri’s elbow slightly to keep the dead weight of his arm from crashing into his viola, and when the bow touched down, it bounced on the string in a perfect ricochet.

Yuuri gaped at him. Celestino had shown him how many variations of ways to learn the stroke? And here Yurio was, guiding him through it perfectly.

Almost perfectly, actually, judging by the look on Yurio’s face. “Your bow hair should be a little flatter. Straighten your wrist a little more.”

Yuuri raised his bow again, straightened his right wrist, and tried to mimic the motion he’d felt earlier. The bouncing sound wasn’t identical, but it was enough to make the corners of Yurio’s mouth twitch upwards.

“Does this mean you won’t be as useless now?”

Yuuri smiled back. “Like you can play this without me anyway.”

\---

_ Victor: yuuri i heard yurio taught u how 2 ricochet _

_ Victor: im so proud!!!!! _

_ Yuri: youre welcome asshole _

_ Victor: so anyway i got u 2 a spot in the chamber recital this saturday _

_ Yuuri: Thats in 3 days _

_ Yuri: victor wtf _

_ Victor: u will be gr8! ))))) _

_ Yuri: VICTOR I KNOW WHERE U SLEEP _

\---

Yuuri had buttoned, unbuttoned, and rebuttoned his suitcoat roughly fifteen times as he waited backstage. He checked the program he’d snagged from one of the ushers. The two of them were closing out the first half, just before intermission, and there were still two groups ahead of them. Unfortunately, that was just enough time for Yuuri to start  _ thinking _ .

He, Yurio, and Victor had been rehearsing every evening, trying to slam the piece into something resembling a duet instead of two musicians who happened to be onstage at the same time. Though Yuuri could keep up technically with Yuri nowo, he could tell the two of them still weren’t playing  _ together _ .

Friday night, Victor had told them to keep their instruments in their cases. Instead, he’d sat them down with a copy of the score each. “You two won’t be able to make music until you know what emotions you’re trying to get across. Name the feeling you want the audience to understand in each variation.”

“Isn’t this something we should have done from the start?” Yuuri asked.

“We can’t all remember everything!”   


“Yakov probably told him he was being a shitty coach,” Yurio muttered. It still took Yuuri by surprise any time either of them referred to Maestro Feltsman by his first name, but he supposed they’d earned the right.

“My ears work just fine, Yurio,” Victor said, a dangerous smile on his face. “Now, when you play the theme, what are you thinking about?”

_ Sharpness that turns to longing when their back is turned _ is what they’d agreed on. Neither of them had clarified who they meant by “they,” and Victor hadn’t pressed.  _ Ballroom dancing _ came next, followed by  _ showing off _ . Yurio had angrily scribbled “dance battle” in a few of the genuinely competitive variations, much to Victor’s amusement.

The very middle of the piece, the emotional peak, was where they hadn’t managed to find something they shared. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though - Yuuri had managed to completely ruin the moment.

“It’s like falling in love with an idealized image of someone, then having the rug torn out from under you when they’re even more than you can imagine,” Yuuri had said.

Victor had looked intrigued. “You sound like you’re talking from experience, Yuuri. Has something like that happened to you?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that!” Yuuri had responded, a bit too quickly. “There was that one time last year when the cafeteria made katsudon and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but then it was perfect…”

Yurio had snorted, trying and failing to hold back his laughter. Victor had looked like  _ he  _ had just had the rug torn from under him. “Katsudon?” he said weakly. “Sure, if that’s what will help you.”

Yuuri tried to push past his memory of that variation to keep going over the other variations in his mind, but he kept hearing Yurio’s voice cackling, “Katsudon!” He unbuttoned his suitcoat again.

“Oi, Katsudon, look alive.” Yurio was leaning against the greenroom door. He, surprisingly, was wearing a relatively unassuming suit, jacket unbuttoned, instead of the leopard-print monstrosities he was so fond of. Victor had probably played a hand in this.

“Are we up?”

“In about a minute. What are you doing? Leave the jacket unbuttoned or we’ll both look stupid!”

Yuuri undid the single button and grabbed his viola and bow. “Check tuning really fast?”

Yurio nodded, and Yuuri played his open A quietly. Yurio listened for a moment before matching his pitch and quickly checking his other strings. “Let’s do this shit,” he said as the audience applauded for the group before them.

Yuuri entered first from stage right, Yurio directly behind him, as the previous group exited stage left. He thought he could hear Phichit’s encouraging cheers from somewhere in audience left, and someone front and center actually  _ whistled _ . Between the stage lights and an old contacts prescription Yuuri couldn’t see anything, but he could have sworn the sound came from where Victor had said he’d be sitting.

After bowing to acknowledge the audience, they adjusted the height of their stands - Yuuri raising his slightly, Yurio lowering his. Instruments tucked under their chins, they looked at each other. Something was different about Yurio’s eyes onstage, Yuuri realized. Stage fright? No, it wasn’t the panicky expression Yuuri knew well from looking in the mirror. He cycled through a few adjectives in his mind - softer, happier, peaceful? - but nothing seemed to fit.

Yurio raised his eyebrows and stifled a cough, and Yuuri realized he was just standing there, bow by his side like an idiot. He lifted it to his strings and nodded slightly, ready to start.

At Yurio’s cue, they were off. The auditorium had different acoustics than their rehearsal space - melodies had sounded muddy, drowning Yuuri out, were now sharp and crisp and biting. The violin yielded the theme to the viola, who added an underlying dark tone to the cutting brightness that had come before.

They danced their way through the first half’s variations, Yuuri matching Yurio’s grin when they hit the first section marked “dance off.” Every musical gesture Yuri made, Yuuri matched and more, as they spiraled the music up and over each other into the audience.

Yuuri hadn’t taken beta blockers that morning, he realized with a jolt. He was actually having  _ fun _ in front of an audience.

They collided with the lyrical middle section. Yurio glanced at Yuuri to make sure they were at the same tempo - and there was that weird look again! - before burying his eyes in his sheet music. Despite the fact that they weren’t able to make eye contact, Yuuri pushed and pulled the tempo with artistry, lingering on the notes that demanded just a bit more time.

_ It’s like being in love with the idealized version of someone _ .

They hit the  _ subito piano _ , suddenly softer.  _ When the rug is torn out from under you. When you can’t even breathe because of how much they are _ .

The thought slammed into him.  _ Victor. _

Yurio looked up from his stand then. Unguarded - that was the word Yuuri had been searching for. There was hardly a sign of the angry cat Yuuri had gotten to know. There was only Yuri Plisetsky, eighteen years old, tired of picking up whatever scraps of affection and pride were left for him after people met Victor. And there was only Katsuki Yuuri, not quite twenty, performing for the first time without medication weighing down his emotions, suffocating under just how in love he was.

And somewhere out in the hall there was Victor, and Phichit, and the rest of the audience. For them, in that moment, Yuri and Yuuri crafted something hushed and intimate that left them all holding their breath.

The variation came to a close. Yuri nearly snapped his string with the opening pizzicato of the second half. The spell was broken.

The rest of the piece passed in a blur. Dimly, Yuuri remembered the beat of stunned silence as the last chords rang out into the hall before the applause began. Victor was the first one on his feet, but before long the rest of the audience joined him in a standing ovation.

He only snapped back into reality when he felt Yurio push on his shoulder. “Get off the stage, katsudon!” he hissed, and Yuuri found himself back in familiar territory. This was the Yurio he was used to. This was the Yurio he knew how to deal with.

\---

Yuuri had just put his viola case back in his locker, only to find Victor standing just behind where the door had been. He jumped back slightly.

“Let me walk you back to your dorm room?” Victor asked.

“Campus isn’t very dangerous. I think I can manage getting myself back,” Yuuri replied.

Victor smiled, though there was something more subdued to it than his usual million-watt grin. “It’s an excuse to spend more time with you, Yuuri.”

Victor was always full of surprises, huh. “I’m surprised you’re not sick of me. We did spend basically the past week in a rehearsal room together.”

“Sick of you?” Victor looked offended at the very thought. “Never! Besides, that was all as your coach. I want to spend time with you as friends, too.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

“Do you want us to be something else?”

This conversation was heading in a dangerous direction for Yuuri’s mental well-being. “No, no, friends is good!” he said a little too loudly. “Whatever you want to be is fine!”

Victor laughed a little at that, though he also looked a little...disappointed? Whatever emotion had flashed across his face was gone as quickly as it had arrived. “Friends it is.”

They walked out of the concert hall in silence, with Yuuri desperately trying to think of topics of conversation. Small talk was never his strong suit. What do you even talk about with your idol-turned-coach-turned-friend? Music was off the table if Yuuri didn’t want to turn into a blubbering fanboy, and he’d rather die than talk about the weather with  _ Victor Nikiforov _ .

Thankfully, Victor broke the silence. “What were you thinking about while you were playing?”

“Huh?” Yuuri replied eloquently.

“Just now that was the best I’ve ever heard you and Yurio, and somehow I don’t believe that a bowl of katsudon could draw out that level of emotion. Did I miss a heart to heart backstage?”

Yuuri snorted, trying to imagine the prickly Yurio opening up to anyone. “As if.”

“Then what?”

His heart raced. The obvious answer was Victor - he’d been thinking of Victor the whole time. Showing off for him, playing with him, drowning in his attention. He couldn’t even remember what had motivated his performances before Victor. Had he really thought  _ katsudon _ was the key to playing like you were in love?

But like many things, he would sooner cut off his own arm than admit any of this to Victor. Even though he could feel his face turning red and Victor must have noticed.

“You don’t have to tell me now,” he said, and Yuuri quietly breathed a sigh of relief. “But I would like to know. That was a whole new side of you that I want to see again.”

“Did Yurio tell you what he was thinking about?”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. He disappeared during the intermission.” Victor put his hands in his jacket pockets. “Knowing him, though, it was probably his grandfather.”

“His grandfather?” Yuuri echoed.

“Yurio might act like he doesn’t like anyone, but his grandfather means the world to him. It’s not my story to tell, though. Maybe you should ask him yourself, hmm?”

An image sprang unbidden to Yuuri’s mind of Yurio strangling him with a spare set of violin strings. There was a tone to Victor’s voice that said it was a long story, and not one that he really needed to know.

“Well, whatever it was, it worked. We were actually playing  _ together _ for once.”

“And you had the whole audience in the palms of your hands.”

It was like a switch was flipped, and Yuuri almost got whiplash from how quickly Victor changed from “coach” to “fan.” He couldn’t stop talking about the performance (“No one was even breathing, Yuuri, it was incredible”), Yuuri’s technique (“Couldn’t believe you only learned that this week!”), and even his outfit (“Someone who plays so beautifully shouldn’t wear a tie that ugly. I’ll lend you one of mine next time”). The praise made Yuuri feel like he was melting and by the time they made it back to the dorm entrance, his head was spinning.

“I guess this is goodnight-” Yuuri started to say as Victor talked over him.

“Do you have plans for the rest of the evening?”

“Uh, not really,” Yuuri replied. “Phichit and I were gonna stay in and watch a movie, nothing too exciting.”

“Phichit?” Something in Victor’s attention shifted. “Your boyfriend?”

Yuuri waved his hands as if shaking the idea away. “My roommate! I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“What about a girlfriend?” Victor sounded almost predatory. “Any exes?”

“No, and, um, no comment,” Yuuri said. He dug in his pocket for his keys, hoping Victor would drop the line of questioning.

“But you play so expressively! And to think you’ve never had a lover…”

“Yep okay sure great talk Victor!” he said in one breath as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I’ll see you at orchestra rehearsal?”

“Yuuri, wait!” And Victor stuck his foot in the open door, preventing Yuuri from shutting it and running to his dorm room. Damn him. “Do you mind if I come in?”

_ Yes _ , every bone in his body screamed.  _ If you let Victor Nikiforov in your dorm room, you are capital-F Fucked. There is no way you make it out of this situation in one piece _ !

But then there was also the dangerous voice in his heart that said  _ But what if you do? He seemed disappointed earlier when you said you were friends. What if he wants something more? _

There was never a question, really. “Sure,” Yuuri decided. “I’m sure Phichit wouldn’t mind.”

He frantically sent a message to his roommate, though, while Victor wasn’t looking.

_ Yuuri: Hide the cds!!! _

\---

As Yuuri had predicted, Phichit did  _ not _ mind adding a third person to movie night (and, he noted with some relief, had managed to hide his CDs of Victor before they made it to the room).

While Yuuri changed out of his suit and into sweatpants and a t-shirt, Phichit took the opportunity to introduce Victor to his hamsters. “This is Tenor, and that one hiding under the log is Alto,” Phichit said, holding one of the animals in his hands. They were about as social as they always were around strangers - which was to say not at all - but that never stopped Phichit from showing off his babies.

Yuuri made popcorn as the other two chattered away about Instagram this and Twitter that and where in the city you were the least likely to get carded for buying a case of shit beer. _ It must be nice to not freak out about meeting new people _ , Yuuri thought before pushing the idea to the back of his mind. Movie night meant no worrying about that shit, it meant eating popcorn and drinking Miller High Life, it meant-

“ _ The King and the Skater _ ?” Yuuri groaned. “Again? I don’t even like it that much and you’ve made me watch it eight times.”

“What? You love it! You’ve seen it eight times!” Phichit chirped. He opened his beer and patted the seat in the middle of their couch, between him and Victor. “Sit.”

“I’ve heard of this movie, but never saw it. Is it good?” Victor asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn as Yuuri sat.

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri said.

“He says that, but he cries every time during the song where Arthur confesses he’s from the future.”

“I cry every time I spend more than an hour on your side of the room because I’m allergic.”

“To what, happiness? Friendship?”

“To your  _ hamsters _ , Phichit!”

Phichit rolled his eyes and handed Yuuri a drink. He hit play on the movie and mouthed ‘he loves this movie’ to Victor as the studio’s logo came onscreen.

Yuuri did his best to not notice Victor sliding closer and closer to him as the movie went on. By the middle the two’s thighs were touching, and Victor was not-quite-leaning against him. It took all of Yuuri’s willpower to not lean into the warmth himself. This was still  _ Victor Nikiforov _ he was dealing with, even as he was sitting on Yuuri’s couch, nearly curled up against him. Yuuri was not about to start getting his hopes up now.

_ “You said earlier that ice skating wasn’t always done by one person. Will you teach me to skate with you?” _

_ “Of course… your majesty.” _

Victor was now very close to him, and Yuuri was starting to feel drunk off from the mix of beer and physical contact. He tried desperately to focus on the movie, but that focus was thrown right out the window when Victor started  _ playing with his hair _ . Yuuri thought he might just combust on the spot. After a few minutes and a few deep breaths, though, he even found himself relaxing into the touch.

But  _ The King and the Skater  _ came to a close too soon - the first time Yuuri had ever had  _ that  _ particular thought - and suddenly they were both back in the moment. “I should really get going,” Victor said, though his heart was clearly not in it.

“There’s always  _ The King and the Skater 2 _ ?” Phichit offered.

Yuuri gagged at that suggestion. “Look, Phichit, you’re my friend and all, but no matter how nice tonight was I would  _ actually _ rather die than sit through that movie again.”

“...Tonight was nice?” Phichit said, glancing back and forth between Yuuri and Victor. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Riding the high of physical contact, though, Yuuri failed to recognize it. “Yeah, it was nice. Next time Victor should pick us up some decent beer, though.”

“I’m invited to ‘next time’?” Victor sounded surprised.

“Any friend of Yuuri’s is welcome at movie night,” Phichit declared. “Especially if they’re world-famous and, more importantly, able to legally purchase alcohol.”

“And believe it or not, we don’t sit through the same trainwreck of a movie every week.”

“I liked it!” Victor said, pulling on his coat. “It’s got a great score, and Arthur and the King’s romance? Wow!” Suddenly, Yuuri’s opinion of  _ The King and the Skater  _ skyrocketed.

“I’m glad one of you has taste,” Phichit said. He tenderly put the DVD back on his bookshelf. “For real though? Better beer next time. Maybe even some wine?”

“It’s a promise,” Victor said solemnly. “Great meeting you, Phichit! Good night, Yuuri!”

Then, because he was always full of surprises, Victor not only hugged Yuuri tightly but he  _ kissed his cheek _ before leaving. Yuuri absently brought a hand to the spot Victor’s lips had touched, staring at the closed door.

“Holy  _ shit _ , Yuuri,” Phichit said, voicing his roommate’s thoughts. “Sorry for being such a third wheel on your date!”

“I didn’t- it wasn’t a date!” Yuuri continued running his fingers over his cheeks.

“You invited him up to your room, cuddled while watching a movie, and then he kissed you goodnight!” Phichit pointed out. “That’s like the Platonic ideal of a date!”

“Oh, shut up,” Yuuri muttered, face burning. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket to read the notification.

_ Victor: 4got 2 ask. brunch 2morrow??? _

A little drunk on everything that had just happened, Yuuri replied immediately.

_ Yuuri: Yeah sounds good!  
_ _  
__ Victor: ))))) _


	2. Andante cantabile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri somehow makes it to the first round of competition.

The semester continued on in an easy routine. Yuuri and Phichit limped their way together through their last music theory class - their grades going into their midterms had never been more mediocre. Maestro Feltsman only stopped rehearsal twice to yell at the orchestra that they were all “young professionals who are wasting each others’ time with your ridiculousness, and if you aren’t back tomorrow with your parts  _ memorized _ then you can get out of my classroom,” which everyone took as a sign that the man was getting soft in his old age.

Victor fell right into Yuuri’s routine almost like he was meant to be there from the start. True to his word, Victor started every movie night by bringing beer that didn’t taste more like water and more often than not ended every movie night curled against Yuuri’s side, hand on Yuuri’s thigh. (Phichit pretended not to notice, though he knew just how to tease Yuuri about it after Victor had left for the night.)

Brunch on Sunday mornings was one of the better parts of Yuuri’s week. Yuuri and Phichit usually managed to drag themselves out of bed by 11am to go lay claim to their usual corner table. That left them time for one, maybe two servings of scrambled eggs and hash browns before Victor dragged his hungover ass to the cafeteria as well to join them. Phichit would come up with some unconvincing excuse to leave soon after, leaving Yuuri and Victor alone to grab coffee.

“...Am I still drunk or did he just say ‘I’ll be late for the hamsters’ photoshoot’?” Victor asked.

“I think he was actually serious about that one,” Yuuri said. If nothing else, Phichit kept a consistent Instagram schedule.

Topics of conversation varied wildly from week to week, including but not limited to Yuuri nearly failing his latest sight singing exam, Victor spending the last week locked in the school’s soundproof recording room recording audition CDs, and how ridiculous of a trend tiger-striped clothing was, good thing they didn’t know anyone who was that much of a fashion victim (somehow, that particular topic only would come up while Yurio was walking by with a plate of pancakes).

That particular week, the subject fell to performance anxiety. “I usually take beta blockers before a big concert,” Yuuri said, “so I don’t get jittery and shake on the long notes. I tried the banana trick for a while, but eventually the placebo effect wore off.”

“I’d love to see this ‘banana trick’ of yours, Yuuri,” Victor said, almost  _ purred _ .

Yuuri choked on his coffee. 

“I’m kidding,” Victor said, somehow failing to be reassuring. “Mostly. It’s the potassium, right? I did the same thing before most of my early competitions.”

“But you got over it, right?”

“For the most part. I wouldn’t say I’m nervous on stage anymore.”

“How did you do it?”

“If I say I decided to not be nervous one day, I’ll sound like an arrogant bastard.” Victor shrugged. “But really it’s just self-preservation. You can either be terrified whenever all ears are on you, or you can feel the power of controlling everyone.”

“Terrifying sounds about right,” Yuuri said quietly.

Victor gave him an odd look then. They weren’t unusual, especially when it was just the two of them, but Yuuri still had no idea how to read them. “Yuuri. If you can play half as well with an audience as you do around me you’d have them all wrapped around your finger.”

Victor took a bit of eggs just then, but Yuuri could have sworn he heard him say, “You’ve got one down already.”

\---

It was quarter after midnight on now technically Sunday when Yuuri made it back to his dorm. He’d spent the past twelve hours or so in a Red Bull-induced haze, trying to throw together a music history paper on Ravel  _ and _ an analysis of a Mozart sonata that were both cruelly due at 11:59 pm.

He’d made it with mere minutes to spare and let out a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god watched over pathetic college students while he threw his laptop and headphones in his backpack. The comfort of his bed was so close, he could almost  _ taste _ it. Katsu-what now? Never heard of it.

All of Yuuri’s dreams were dashed in one horrible moment upon opening the door to his room. Technically, he’d known the moment he’d gotten to his floor, but he had hoped against hope that the pulsing bass and dimly muffled shouts were coming from someone else’s living space.

The room was utterly packed. Yuuri couldn’t even see all the way to the windows on the other side of the room for all the people, there was a repurposed ping-pong table taking up a good quarter of the floor space - was that a handle of  _ Everclear _ on his desk!?

“Yuuri!” someone called as he entered the room, still dressed in sweatpants from his homework session. Yuuri ignored them as he kept scanning the room, looking for one person in particular.

He found Phichit off to one side near a minifridge that was doubling as a table for liquor bottles, holding a freaking  _ red Solo cup _ like some stereotype. When the two made eye contact, Phichit rapidly flipped through expressions, from happiness to surprise to what Yuuri chose to interpret as guilt.

Phichit laughed sheepishly when Yuuri finally stepped close enough to him to be heard. “Hey, Yuuri! Glad you could make it!”

“Phichit,” Yuuri said, choosing his words carefully, “when you said you were going to be hosting a clarinet studio party, I expected  _ slightly _ less people than this.”

“I didn’t want to be rude so I invited the rest of the woodwinds and brass.”

Yuuri pointed at a girl he vaguely recognized from his ear training class. Mila Babicheva, he was pretty sure her name was. “She’s a vocalist!”

“Word travels fast?”

“How many noise complaints have we gotten?”

“Well, most of the dorm is in this room, so…”

Yuuri didn’t have the energy to be angry just then, but he did make a mental note to bring this up the next time Phichit asked to borrow an assignment. Besides, it  _ was _ still a Saturday night, he reasoned. “At least tell me where I can put my bag so it’s safe.”

Phichit looked delighted. “You can use Seung-gil’s room, it’s where the hamsters are.”

Yuuri nodded and shoved his way back out to the hallway. Seung-gil’s room was a few doors down, and a brief break from the hurricane that was Phichit and Yuuri’s room. He paused for a few moments in the room to breathe in the quiet. The dorm was more spotless than any college student’s room ought to be, with books neatly put away on the shelf and beds made perfectly. The only mess was the bits of wood shavings that had already fallen out of the hamsters’ cage onto the floor.

He carefully weighed the pros and cons of just passing out in here. Seung-gil was pretty reserved, and he and Yuuri weren’t really close, but surely he’d understand if Yuuri needed a quiet place to rest. On the other hand, Phichit had looked really happy to see him come to a party for once, even one in his own room, and he’d worked hard enough to earn a bit of fun, right?

Sighing, Yuuri set his backpack next to the hamster cage and took off his sweatshirt as well, leaving him in a plain black t-shirt to go with his sweatpants. It wasn’t exactly prime “party look,” but it would have to do.

The second time Yuuri entered his room that night, he was a little more prepared for the onslaught of noise and people. Again, someone called his name not long after he closed the door.

“Yuuuuuri!” Sara Crispino called to him. She made her way effortlessly through the crowd, grabbing him by the arm. “Come do a shot with me!”

She and Yuuri had been friends for a little while, ever since she’d accompanied him on his freshman jury to stay in the music school. Usually she was shadowed by her overprotective twin brother, which made spending any time with her difficult, but taking a quick glance around him Yuuri didn’t see the vocal student anywhere.

Still, better safe than sorry. “Mickey not around?”

“He’s out having a cigarette or something. Maybe the bathroom? I don’t know,” Sara laughed. “Quick, one shot before he gets back!”

She led the way back to the minifridge holding a few bottles of various colors. “Pick your poison,” she said, inspecting the various shot glasses for their cleanliness levels.

Yuuri didn’t drink liquor very often, but he knew enough to avoid the cheap vodka that tasted more like rubbing alcohol. Instead, he cautiously picked up a bottle filled with golden-brown liquid.

“Rum? Works for me.” Sara filled two glasses that were up to her standards and handed one to Yuuri. “Cheers!”

He drained the shot glass and pulled a face immediately. Was that supposed to be a good taste? Looking at the expression on Sara’s face, maybe not. His suspicions were confirmed when she coughed a few times and said, “Well, that was awful! Let me make you something that doesn’t suck.”

Sara pulled a clean plastic cup from the stack and set to mixing some juices and alcohol. While she worked, Yuuri asked her, “Mickey still being weird about you accompanying other people?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, yeah. It’s like, what did he expect? That I’d get a scholarship playing for the vocal studios and only play for him?”

“And he still doesn’t know you’re gay either?”

“He has  _ literally _ walked in on me and Mila and still thinks we’re just good friends.” She handed the cup to him. “Try a sip and let me know if you taste the alcohol.”

He took a tentative sip. “Mostly orange juice. And Sprite?”

“And Everclear. Be careful with that,” she said. “But tell me about what’s going on with you. I hear I’m not the only one getting cozy with a Russian lately.”

He took a much bigger drink than he was intending to. His cheeks felt just a little flushed, though maybe it was only the alcohol. “I wouldn’t say it’s getting  _ cozy _ , really,”

“But you are hanging out with Victor Nikiforov? I’ve seen you two at brunch. You look cute together!”

“W-we’re not together!”

“But you totally could be, Yuuri.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. “Take it from me, that guy is head over heels for you.”

“ _ What?! _ ”

“Trust me. I have my sources,” Sara said, looking thoughtfully across the room. Then her eyes narrowed. “Ugh, Mickey’s back. Good talking to you, Yuuri!”

And with surprising grace, she disappeared back into the crowd. Yuuri thought he saw her pop up again next to the soprano he’d pointed out earlier, just before his other arm was grabbed in an echo of earlier.

“Were you just talking to my sister?” Michele Crispino asked.

“Haven’t seen her all night.” Yuuri drank a little more of the cocktail Sara had mixed up for him. Luckily, Mickey seemed satisfied with that answer. Yuuri was  _ not _ in the mood to be interrogated by the singer.

As Yuuri talked and drank more with the other guests, time seemed to go faster and faster. He dimly remembered mixing a second and then third drink imitating whatever Sara had put together. It tasted stronger and less sweet than when she had made it - maybe he’d gone a little heavy with the alcohol.

He realized in the middle of some conversation with a trumpet player - AJ? Maybe? It was hard to hear - that the one person he really,  _ really _ wanted to see right now was nowhere to be found. He trailed off mid-sentence and dug his phone out of his pocket.

_ Yuuri: heyyyyyyyyyy _

_ Yuuri: yous hould come to my room _

_ Yuuri: phichit threw a paryt but its no fun wthout yuo :(((( _

He looked up from his phone to see the guy he’d been talking to had vanished. Yuuri shrugged. It’s not like he’d been super invested in the conversation anyway. Besides, Phichit had just crossed his line of sight.

“Phichit!” Yuuri yelled happily, clinging to his friend’s arm. Some of the drink in his cup spilled onto the floor. “Oops.”

“Party foul,” Phichit teased. “Maybe you should take a break.”

“Nooooo,” Yuuri protested as Phichit took the cup from him. “I’m fine!”

Phichit sniffed the drink as he went to set it on one of their desks and winced. “Yuuri, are you drinking orange juice with nail polish remover?”

Yuuri gaped at him in horror. “Am I?”

“Let’s get you some water, Yuuri.”

He nodded. Water sounded good. Phichit was a great friend, always looking out for him. “Sara- Sara told me to be careful with that drink.”

“Yeah, you sure listened to her, huh?”

Yuuri hiccupped and hugged Phichit’s arm. The two of them navigated around the game of beer pong to the door. “Where are we going?”

“To get you water, Yuuri.”

Right. Water sounded good. Had he thought that before? He felt really hot all of a sudden. He fumbled for the bottom of his shirt.

“Please don’t strip in the hallway!”

Like  _ Phichit  _ was going to tell him what to do. He was going to get that shirt off so he could cool down, and then he was going to go back and join the party. Why had they left again? To go get something?

“Yuuri?”

That wasn’t Phichit’s voice. Yuuri stopped lifting his shirt over his head and peered toward the sound of his name. “Victor!”

He was hugging Victor. When had Victor gotten there? He was all warm and felt really good to hold. Oh wait, Phichit was talking. What was he saying? Something about water. “Phichit, why are you so obsessed with water?” he said into Victor’s shirt.

Victor laughed then, and Yuuri felt every vibration from deep within Victor’s chest. It felt like bubbles fizzing up from the bottom of a soda can. “You should laugh more,” Yuuri said seriously.

“I don’t speak Japanese, Yuuri,” Victor said. Yuuri blinked at him. That was a non sequi- a non sek- that was a weird thing for him to say. He hadn’t- had he been speaking Japanese?

“Victooor.” The name tickled as it left his throat. “Am I speaking Japanese?”

“Let’s get some water.”

“Why do you and Phichit care so much about water,” he grumbled and oh, that was in Japanese, wasn’t it? Oh well, English was out of his grasp.

Somehow they were back in the dorm room. It was a little roomier by now, but there were still plenty of students keeping the party going. Yuuri took a sip of the drink in his cup. It tasted a lot like water.

The song changed, and Yuuri’s eyes lit up. “Victor!” he said, carefully choosing his words so they came out in the right language. “I love this song! Let’s dance!”

He blinked, and he was pushing Victor’s jacket off his shoulders onto the floor.

He blinked again, and his pants were on the back of his chair and his arms were around Victor’s waist.

He blinked again, and Phichit was handing him a water bottle and turning his speakers down. Someone out in the hall was talking, someone whose voice didn’t sound familiar.

Blink. Hadn’t there been other people at this party? It was just him and Victor dancing, their hips aligned, Yuuri’s fingers in Victor’s hair.

Blink.

\---

Yuuri’s head was  _ pounding _ and oh god, was that the sun? Did they leave the curtains open last night? He opened one eye as far as he dared and yep, that was sunlight streaming into the dorm room.

Judging by the warm figure next to him in the bed, he must have gotten cuddly with Phichit again. Normally his roommate would have pushed him back to the right side of the room by morning, but maybe Phichit was just as bad off as he was.  _ I’m never drinking again, _ Yuuri vowed for the hundredth time.

He really should get back to his own bed to finish sleeping this off, but Yuuri didn’t trust himself to be able to move just yet. Instead he curled up with the source of warmth next to him, pressing his face to Phichit’s back while he groped blindly at the desk next to the bed. Maybe one of them had actually planned ahead for the morning and refilled a water bottle.

He heard the door open and close and let out a noise of acknowledgment that sounded like a dying animal. Yuuri definitely remembered leaving his things in Seung-gil’s room last night - maybe he was bringing them back?

“Yuuri?”

That didn’t sound like Seung-gil’s voice. With great effort, he pried himself up into a half-sitting position. Phichit had just set down a plastic bag on his desk and was taking off his jacket. “Gatorade?” he offered.

Yuuri held his hand out automatically and accepted Phichit’s offering. The artificial blue flavor had never tasted better, and in less than a minute he’d drained almost the entire bottle.

“So, fun night, huh?” There was a teasing quality to Phichit’s voice that Yuuri couldn’t quite place. It was too early, he decided. Since he wasn’t dying of dehydration anymore, he could go back to sleep and figure it out later. He laid back down and wrapped an arm around-

Wait.

Phichit had just gone to the store to get Gatorade.

The other person in the bed, therefore, could not be Phichit.

_ Then who…? _

For the first time that morning, Yuuri fully opened his eyes. There, asleep next to him, was none other than Victor fucking Nikiforov.

Yuuri actually  _ yelped _ as he fell backwards out of bed. Headache forgotten, he looked up apprehensively at Phichit. “...what did I do last night?”

Phichit sat on his bed and opened up the box of Pop Tarts he’d also bought. “Yuuri, you were a disaster last night. Which I mean in the best possible way.”

“Why is Victor-?”

“Because you passed out clinging on to him,” Phichit said. He took a bite of Pop Tarts and continued, “And don’t worry, I slept here last night. You two didn’t do anything.”

Yuuri still had to hide his face in his hands. “I passed out clinging to him?”

“I meant it when I said you were a disaster. Here, let me show you.” He patted the bed next to him, and after a cautious glance to be sure Victor was still asleep Yuuri climbed next to Phichit. His roommate quickly flipped through his photos app to find the beginning of the night. “Okay, so things start normal enough, couple pics of my outfit, photographic evidence that the room started out as clean, and here’s where people start showing up.”

Yuuri didn’t pay too much attention to the photos that were taken before he’d gotten there, though he did laugh at the blurry picture of one of the clarinet studio freshman failing to shotgun a PBR. He remembered slaving away in the library at this time perfectly well.

The party in the pictures grew steadily livelier. Most photos were of Phichit taking selfies with his guests, but there were a few shots of the party itself. Yuuri noticed Otabek facing off against that trumpet player (JJ?) in beer pong, and winning handily if the cups on the table were anything to go by. There was also a great picture of Emil, the principal percussionist, mid-dance off with Mickey Crispino while Sara giggled into Mila’s shoulder.

“You should post that one to Instagram,” Yuuri said.

“Way ahead of you. Anyway, here’s the part where you come in.”

Phichit scrolled more slowly though these pictures, offering his commentary on most of them. “So here’s you and Sara doing a shot. You look really good in this one, by the way, can I post it?”

“Not until I can actually drink in this country or my sister will kill me.”

“Fair, fair.” Phichit flipped past a few more selfies. “So here is where things start going off the rails. I don’t have pictures for a little while because I was trying to keep you from dying of alcohol poisoning. What did water ever do to drunk Yuuri?”

“I remember that,” Yuuri said, the memory coming back with startling clarity. “You were obsessed with me getting some water.”

“Yeah, because you’d drank your weight in grain alcohol! I’m surprised you’re a functioning human being right now. Anyway, Victor showed up at that point and from then on I let you be  _ his  _ problem. Look.” And Phichit showed Yuuri photographic proof that yes, he’d really had a drink or five too many.

“Where did my shirt go?”

“To be honest, Yuuri, I have no idea.”

Pure masochism drove him to keep looking. There he was, shirtless, practically grinding up against Victor as he pushed his jacket from his shoulders. Then the two of them were dancing, photo-Yuuri apparently saying something to Sara and Mila. Yuuri stripping. (“Phichit, delete that one!”) Yuuri glaring as Victor took a drink away from him. 

“Quick gap in photos again here because someone  _ finally _ called security with a noise complaint,” Phichit explained. “So I had to turn the volume down and put on ‘Closing Time’ so people would actually  _ leave _ .”

There was another picture that lined up with Yuuri’s dim memories. He and Victor looked like they were slow-dancing, with Victor’s arms wrapped around his waist and Yuuri’s hands resting in Victor’s hair. It would have looked almost romantic if Yuuri had been wearing more than his boxers, and also if they hadn’t been dancing to Phichit’s attempt to kick everyone out.

“Phichit, how do you even deal with me?”

“Because you’re so much fun to torture the next morning,” Phichit said. “Now hush, this last one is my favorite. So at some point while I was herding the last of the drunk freshman out into the hall, I guess you fell asleep? But you’d been cuddling up to Victor or something, so you basically pinned him. It’s adorable.”

Yuuri grabbed the phone out of Phichit’s hands to look more closely. The lighting was dimmer in this photo - he assumed Phichit had turned off the overhead lights and only had his bedside lamp on. Photo-Victor was sitting up in the middle of the bed, resting against the wall while Photo-Yuuri was stretched across his legs, sound asleep. Victor’s mouth was open, probably talking to Phichit, and his hand was gently resting in Yuuri’s hair, but the most interesting part of the picture by far was Victor’s expression. He was looking down at Yuuri with exhausted eyes - considering the timestamp of 2:32 on the photo, that wasn’t surprising - but there was still a spark lighting them. Fondness softened all of his features.

No, not fondness. Something else. Yuuri didn’t know if he had a name for the emotion Victor was showing, for the feeling that had suddenly taken hold of his own heart.  _ But if I had to guess, I’d call it ‘love.’ _

“Can you send me this one?” Yuuri said, handing the phone back to Phichit.

“You know I’m gonna get this one framed and give it to you as a wedding gift,” Phichit said as he tapped the send button. Yuuri’s phone vibrated on his desk a moment later.

Yuuri considered protesting that they weren’t even dating, much less getting married anytime soon, but his headache reminded him that really, he needed another few hours of sleep and a gallon of coffee before he’d even be able to fully process Phichit’s photos.

Instead, he yawned. “I’m gonna go find some coffee.”

“And leave me here alone with your boyfriend?”

“Not my boyfriend.”

“Can I still give him the shovel talk though?”

Yuuri stared in horror as the blankets on his bed stirred. “Who’s getting a shovel?” Victor asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just after 10,” Phichit supplied helpfully.

Victor hummed a noise of acknowledgement. His eyes scanned the room, looking for something. The heart-shaped smile that lit up his features made it obvious what it was. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri’s stomach growled ominously. “I’m going to throw up,” he announced before turning and running from the room.

\---

Post-hangover, Yuuri’s life continued. He barely had time to agonize over what had happened that night between classes, homework, and double his usual preparation for the upcoming competition. The concerto competition determined which students would be soloing with the orchestra in the spring semester - nerve-racking enough even at a small school, but at a university with the prestige of Yuuri’s? Yuuri knew of several alumni who proudly listed their performance with the school’s symphony orchestra in their professional biographies even decades after graduation.

Yuuri had entered last year, like nearly every music student did, and had fallen flat on his face during the final round. Professor Celestino had tried to reassure him afterwards, tell him that even making it to the last round of competition as a freshman was nothing to sneeze at, but he may as well have tried to reassure Phichit’s hamsters for all the good it did. His memory had failed him during every fast, flashy passage and not even Sara’s accompaniment could get him back on track.

Really, after he’d embarrassed himself that badly, Yuuri considered it a minor miracle he’d scraped a pass on his freshman jury to let him stay a student at all.

Victor had won that year, of course, and Yuuri could still hum every note of the  [ Barber violin concerto ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6J9LIakI20) . It was the only reason Yuuri could come up with to explain why Victor was coaching him this year - as last year’s winner, he wasn’t eligible this year, so coaching Yuuri would be another shot at glory.

Of course, he was still taking lessons with Celestino as well. As the weeks and then days to the preliminary round ticked down, Yuuri’s schedule grew more and more fixed. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday were devoted to classwork and orchestra rehearsal. Tuesday was Celestino’s day, where he and Yuuri would spend an hour picking apart every note in the  [ Rhapsody-Concerto ](https://youtu.be/w3Cj867P2Y8?t=25s) , practicing every shift in position, testing Yuuri’s memory backwards and forwards. Nearly every other waking moment was spent with Victor.

Victor, who didn’t pull any punches in telling Yuuri his bouncing  _ spiccato  _ was sloppy. Victor, who despite playing a different instrument could offer improvements on his technique. Victor, who brought him coffee every morning and forced him to take rest days when his wrist threatened to collapse into carpal tunnel syndrome.

Victor, who inexplicably had nothing  _ better _ to be doing.

“Yuuri, the opening of the second movement is swirling a little too much,” Victor said, two days before the preliminaries. “Try and find the music’s direction.”

_ It’s a little hard when everything is swirling _ , Yuuri thought. Everything about this piece, everything about the way it was now tied to Victor, was swirling.

Still, he could work with this. For once that day, Victor hadn’t had anything critical to say about his tricky double-stops and chords, which meant only the melodies needed attention. Melody was something he could do on his own. He  _ had _ taken voice lessons from Okukawa Minako, former soprano of the Fujiwara Opera, back home in Hasetsu - had learned when to breathe, when to project, when to let yourself be vulnerable.

He spent that evening in a practice room, viola at rest in its case, working out each melodic phrase on its own. Though he didn’t have any lyrics to work with and had to make a few awkward octave jumps to accommodate his vocal range, bits and pieces of the concerto that had felt disjointed before now fell into place.

“This note  _ here _ ,” he muttered to himself as he circled the note in question and wrote VIB in all capital letters, a reminder to himself to add some extra vibrato to make that bit sparkle. He turned the page and was about to move onto the next melody when a distant sound from another practice room gave him pause.

It was  _ really _ late. Yuuri knew a few of the piano and wind majors were night owls like him, but he’d never heard a violinist to be practicing this late. Curious, he followed the sound to one of the practice rooms. He peeked into the window that looked out into the hallway to see none other than Victor, scowling at a Bach partita as though he could make the notes bend to his will.

_ Graduate school _ , Yuuri thought at once.  _ Or a competition of his own? _ There were plenty of international festivals Victor was eligible for, ones he should really audition for if he wanted to keep his career moving past “child prodigy” standards.

He watched, awestruck as always, as Victor raised his violin back to his chin and brought forth soaring tones that set Yuuri’s heart on fire.

_ This is what he’s supposed to be doing _ , Yuuri’s traitorous mind whispered to him as Victor’s bow danced between the strings.  _ Performing. Not reducing himself to coaching some second-rate violist _ .

Yuuri slowly sunk to the floor, knees pressed to his chest. He did his best not to think about how Victor coaching him meant that the only time Victor had to himself to practice was the middle of the night.  _ What am I even doing? I can’t win. I’m wasting Victor’s time even trying? _

Victor played on, unaware of Yuuri sitting just outside his practice room door, listening, biting back tears.

\---

Yuuri’s control over his mental state had somehow managed to get worse by the following afternoon. The preliminary round of the competition was still eighteen hours away for the string division, but Yuuri was quite possibly going to anxiously vibrate out of existence long before then.

Phichit’s general calmness did not help matters. The woodwinds department had finished their qualifying round on Thursday, and he had easily skated through to the finals. It seemed to Yuuri like Phichit was  _ never _ nervous, but at least when they were both on the same side of the competition hurdle Phichit could relieve some of Yuuri’s anxious energy.

Now, however…

“Yuuri, what’s the worst way a date could end?” Phichit asked. “A hospital visit, something on fire, running into your ex, getting arrested, or getting puked on?”

“Hospital,” he replied. With the way his heart had been pounding the last day or so, he was already worried he’d wind up there.

Phichit tapped at his phone a few more times, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “Buzzfeed says you should be dating Zayn...oh, this was just an ad for that one music video. Maybe there’s a better one?”

“Zayn?”

“From One Direction?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Phichit locked his phone and tucked it into his front pocket. “You’re impossible to distract right now.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri said automatically. He ran his thumb over the calluses on his left fingers again. One or two of them were threatening to sprout blisters, and wouldn’t that be just the  _ perfect _ addition to his stress?

He tuned back in to hear the end of Phichit’s question. “-day?” At his blank stare, Phichit repeated himself. “Have you even eaten anything today?” Another blank stare accompanied by the slightest hint of a grimace, and Phichit grabbed him by the wrist. “C’mon, we’re going to the diner.”

Yuuri’s protests that he wasn’t even hungry, his stomach would not be able to handle a greasy hamburger, he really should go practice a bit more fell on deaf ears. The 24-hour diner was surprisingly not full to capacity like it usually was on a Friday, but the odds of finding a table they could have to themselves were slim at best.

“Yuuri! Phichit!” called a voice from the back corner, and who else would it be but Victor, heart-shaped smile and all? He was joined in a corner booth by a grumpy-looking Yurio and someone else that Yuuri couldn’t identify from the back of their head.

Nervousness temporarily forgotten at the sight, Yuuri stepped out of the line and handed Phichit a few dollars. “Order something for me?”

“Mmm, I don’t know, Yuuri. I can tell you’ve got a taste for Russian, but it just doesn’t look like that’s on on the menu.”

“...Give me back my money.” Phichit winked and held the bills out of Yuuri’s grasp.

One dodged herd of freshmen later, Yuuri slid into the open side of the booth next to Victor. The violinist immediately put one arm around him and gestured to the other person at the table. “Chris, do you know Yuuri?”

“Of course I do,” Christophe Giacometti replied. “Unlike you violinists, us lower strings actually support each other.”

“I support Yurio!”

“Like hell you do,” Yurio snapped and took a sip of his soft drink.

“Chris and I were in a quartet together one summer,” Yuuri explained. He and the cellist had crossed paths several summers in a row, seeming to always wind up attending the same camps. “Was that at...Tanglewood?”

“Madeline Island, I think,” Chris said, a hand on his chin. “That was the summer my bow collapsed from the humidity.”

“How did I manage to block that concert from my memory until this moment?”

“Your bow  _ collapsed _ ?” Victor asked.

“Two minutes before we were supposed to play. The finale of Death and the Maiden had a  _ pizzicato  _ bass part that summer and for some reason it sounded awful. Who would have guessed?” Chris laughed. “Definitely my most memorable performance.”

“Including that time you tried to seduce that photography major your freshman year and set up outside his dorm wearing nothing but a-”

Yurio gagged. “There are children present!”

Phichit chose that moment to join the four of them in the booth. He set a bowl of chili and a bag of French fries in front of Yuuri, along with thirty-two cents in change. “Scoot over,” he said, and Yuuri slid a little closer to Victor, their thighs pressed together.

“Do you perform tomorrow, Phichit?” Victor asked

Phichit loudly swallowed a bite of hamburger before answering. “Woodwinds and brass went yesterday, so I’m done for the semester. What about all of you? Tomorrow?”

Chris and Yurio both nodded, and whatever semblance of a good mood Yuuri had managed to put together vanished in a puff of smoke. He hadn’t even thought about his competition except in the abstract, but he knew firsthand how well both of them played. There wasn’t a guarantee the string division would send even one person to the final round - Yuuri didn’t have a prayer.

A squeeze of his upper arm yanked him out of his thoughts. Victor shot him a concerned glance, and Yuuri could only hope he didn’t look too panicked. “May the best musician win,” was all Victor said. He let his eyes linger on Yuuri for a split second before yanking the conversation in a different direction. “Did I tell you I’m going to Switzerland over winter break?”

“You have my attention,” Chris leaned in, eager for more detail.

“Geneva, specifically. Lilia is sending Yurio and me to a master class. Your parents don’t live far from there, right?”

“I’ll be sure to show you all the sights,” Chris said, and there was something less than PG to the tone of his voice. “Will Yuuri be joining you?”

“I hope so!” Victor hugged Yuuri closer. “What do you say, Yuuri? Chocolate and skiing for New Year’s?”

Maybe someday Yuuri would be able to handle the roller coaster of emotions that Victor dragged him on. A vacation with Victor Nikiforov  _ did _ sound nice, if he could just silence the nasty thoughts that he didn’t deserve such a good thing, but he stuttered out a safe non-answer of needing to talk to his parents first.

The rest of dinner passed easily, Victor or Phichit always steering the conversation away from stormy waters and back to safe subjects like Chris’ job as a studio art model or Yurio’s latest failed attempt to keep a stray cat in his dorm room.

The only acknowledgement Victor even gave about tomorrow came when he squeezed Yuuri’s left hand under the table. “Don’t practice tonight,” he said as he ran his fingers over the same calluses Yuuri had been rubbing all afternoon. “Your hand needs rest.”

As he tried to sleep that night, Yuuri couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d felt a spark run up his arm straight to his brain the moment Victor had taken his hand.

\---

“Did you get any sleep?” Victor asked as he sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs that had been set up outside the audition room.

Yuuri barely stifled a yawn. “A few hours.”

“How many is ‘a few’?”

“...two?” He dragged his fingers along the neck of his viola, getting his shifts under his fingers again. He winced as he accidentally put too much pressure on his index finger, and prayed that the blister wouldn’t burst until later.

Victor glanced at his watch. “I guess it’s too late to try and get you to rest.”

“Not when I’m up next.” He stood for the fifth time in as many minutes, pacing back and forth in the small hallway. He tried to keep the piercing sounds inside the room from breaking through to his brain.

Chris had played  [ his concerto ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llB7NaWLUc4) so well, with his few memory slips barely putting a dent in the romantic (capital-R and lowercase-r alike) energy of the music. Even though his performances weren’t technically flawless, they were something even the untrained ear could appreciate and love, something that had a unique voice. And Yurio,  [ playing now ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbJZeNlrYKg) , seemed on track to be perfect. Only eighteen and already this good - Yuuri had just started to come into his own as a musician, and there were already freshmen that could crush him.

“Yuuri?”

He tore his gaze from the stage door, but couldn’t block out the perfectly-tuned arpeggio Yurio had just cranked out like it was  _ nothing _ . Yuuri stared at Victor, blank-faced but wide-eyed, as Yurio’s accompanist took over the melody.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Victor said, taking hold of Yuuri’s wrist suddenly. There was no mental energy in him to resist, instead letting Victor lead him out of the green room hallway, down the stairs and toward the practice rooms. This time on a Saturday morning, most rooms were wide open. Victor selected one at random, nudging the door shut behind them.

The room around them was noticeably quieter - only faint strains of the vocalists or pianists practicing around them could be heard. Even if Yuuri concentrated, there wasn’t a prayer of hearing Yurio’s performance down here. Which in many ways was  _ worse _ \- when he was upstairs, he could focus on  _ Don’t listen to them _ . Downstairs, there was only  _ Don’t think about how badly you’re going to miss that spot in the second movement _ and  _ Don’t do something stupid like trip over your own feet _ .

There was  _ Victor’s been practicing late at night so he doesn’t fall behind _ . Victor was in a scary place in his life right now, trying to keep his momentum of being a child prodigy going so he could transition to unquestioned professional.  _ And here I come, taking away so much of his time _ . Sure, he hadn’t asked Victor to do it, but he hadn’t said no. What if it was too late? What if he’d ruined the rest of Victor’s life by robbing him of his own skill?  _ It’s not like my performing career stands a chance, even now _ .

“Take some deep breaths,” Victor said in a measured tone of voice, like Yuuri was somehow  _ new _ to the whole mental breakdown thing. He could take deep breaths until he was blue in the face, but that wouldn’t make his thoughts any slower or kinder.

He was dimly aware that he was pacing back and forth. He must have given his viola to Victor at some point, or maybe Victor had just taken it from him so he wouldn’t do something stupid. Smash it against the piano, or something. The competition results would be the same either way, but buying a new instrument wouldn’t be cheap.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and for the first time that day Victor was actually able to make eye contact with him. He probably looked like shit, but what surprised him was how Victor wasn’t wearing a perfectly polished expression. There was a thought spinning behind his blue eyes, almost like for once in his life Victor wasn’t sure what to say.

_ Pep talk incoming _ , Yuuri thought. Not that they ever did a whole lot of good - his anxiety was a lot more stubborn than some nice words and a few ‘Go get ‘em’s and wouldn’t yield to facts or logic.

Instead, Victor withdrew his hand from Yuuri’s shoulder and rested it on his own face, covering the left side of his face more completely than his bangs alone did. “Yuuri, if you don’t advance to the finals of the competition, I’ll step back and let Celestino teach you alone from now on.”

_ What _ .

His heart must have stopped beating in his chest. His throat was closing up. He must have misheard, just breathe, he  _ had _ to have- did Victor just say- would Victor really-

He pulled in a shaky breath through trembling lips. He and Victor realized at the same time that Yuuri was crying - Victor’s hand flew from his face, hovering halfway between the two of them now. “Yuuri, I-”

“How can you even say something like that!?” Yuuri exploded and yep, that was a sob. “That you would stop coaching me? Am I just a waste of time to you?”

“Yuuri, no, you’re not, you’re not.”

“I’ve been wondering if you secretly wanted to quit!”

“I’ve never wanted that!”

“I know!” he screamed. And Yuuri  _ did  _ know that, somewhere beneath the terrible thoughts that didn’t ever stop. He knew if Victor had wanted to quit, he would have done it weeks, months ago. The Passacaglia had been more than Yuuri could have ever dreamed, but Victor had stayed on as his second teacher even after that. But it was one thing to know it, and another to actually hear it from Victor’s mouth.

“I don’t know what to do when people cry in front of me,” Victor admitted. He looked like he wanted to rewind time, take back what he’d just said. “Should I just kiss you or something?”

“No!” Yuuri choked out. “You don’t have to do anything or say anything. Just believe in me more than I do!”

If he could go into that audition knowing just one person was on his side, completely and totally, he could do it. That person was never going to be Yuuri himself, but maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be.

A few minutes passed without conversation as Yuuri pulled himself back together and wiped the last teardrops from his eyes. “I need to get back upstairs,” he said, reaching out a hand for his viola. Victor handed it and his bow over wordlessly, following him just a step or two behind as they went back to the stage door.

\---

Splotchy cheeks and red eyes aside, Yuuri felt remarkably better as he lifted his bow to the string. The opening of the concerto was like a folk song, simple but purely-sung, weak for now but growing stronger with each breath.

He felt a little bad, thinking of how Victor had frantically backpedaled in that practice room. But if Yuuri could deal with a complete panic attack ten minutes before he had to play, Victor could live with being a little discomfort. He moved into the second theme of the piece, more playful than the humble opening, and smiled a little as he remembered the look on Victor’s face when he realized what he’d done.

_ It’s not like my anxiety is anything new _ , he thought as he nailed the first set of difficult chords.  _ Victor just has no idea what he’s doing _ . That idea didn’t scare him as much as maybe it should - instead, it was nice to know another way the great Victor Nikiforov was human after all.

Yuuri entered again in the silence that followed the orchestral interlude. This part had always terrified him. There was no piano alongside him when he messed up, just a question and answer between the viola and what would be a full orchestra. Everyone’s attention would have to be focused on him. But now, the thought of the give and take intrigued him -  _ They’ll meet me where I am _ , he thought as he bounced the melody back to the piano.

The first movement faded into nothingness, the folk song drawing to a close and the singer’s life peaceful for as long as Yuuri chose to take between movements. The second was a thunderstorm in the distance, not disturbing anything just yet but threatening to tear the peace apart at a moment’s notice. Yuuri could relate uncomfortably well - it was part of the reason he’d asked Professor Celestino if he could play this particular concerto.

The first movement trended upwards, was optimistic, but the second was always threatening to fall down into the dark, deep, threatening tones of the viola’s lower range. Whenever the melody reached a high note, the key always dragged it back down into an agitated mess.

But there were moments of brightness still. A quiet melody broke through the noise of the orchestra. This second folk tune carried hope in it, a hope that was strong enough to overcome the darkness of what had come before.

Yuuri had always struggled to connect to this part of the concerto personally. For a while, he had imagined characters from the sappy movies he and Phichit watched together where “true love conquers all” and that sort of garbage. Playing now, though, he could see Victor’s smile as he poked fun at Yurio, Victor singing along to “Shall We Skate,” the mess of Victor’s bedhead when he woke up from a night of drinking.

The peace of the song didn’t last long as the concerto picked up into its more virtuosic sections. As the piano played, Yuuri anxiously fingered the shifts and chords that were coming up next. By far his weakest section, he prayed they were memorized strongly enough.

He winced as he missed a key shift and tried to tell himself it didn’t matter too much.  _ Just stay with the beat. You can fix this _ .

_ Look at me _ , he demanded instead as he moved higher and higher on the instrument. His bow was striking against the string with every note, more percussion than melody at this point.  _ Look at what I can do despite the storm _ .

His hands were sweating and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest.  _ I must be more tired than I thought _ , he realized as he quickly wiped his left hand against his suit pants.  _ Just a few more minutes. _

The quiet tune came back, little more than a whisper.  _ I’m Katsuki Yuuri, _ he said with every note and every breath.  _ Nineteen years old. I’m a mediocre violist at best, but let me show you what I can do. _

_ Please listen _ , he prayed to the audience with his final note. It seemed to stretch on into infinity as his bow kept the sound spinning, staying clear in tone without a hitch even as it grew softer and softer and slowly faded into nothing.

It could have been seconds or minutes before Yuuri lowered his bow and broke the spell of silence he’d cast with his playing. Of course there was no applause, just the sound of pens scratching against paper as the judges noted their comments. Yuuri bowed deeply anyway before leaving the stage, passing by the next competitor as he left.

“Victor!” he called. His coach’s attention seemed focused on the television screen the crew used to see what was happening on stage, as if Victor hadn’t realized Yuuri wasn’t still standing there. The look on his face was indecipherable. Was he angry? Proud? “I did well out there, didn’t I?”

Victor turned then, and smiled. Yuuri had only a few seconds to recognize that smile as the one he’d seen in Phichit’s photograph before Victor had closed the distance between them. He could feel Victor’s breath on his face as Victor hovered there, barely an inch away.

“You were perfect,” Victor breathed, before reaching through the last bit of space and pressing his lips to Yuuri’s.

It was like lightning was flooding Yuuri’s body, all the sparks flowing into him at the place they met. Victor’s lips were so smooth against Yuuri’s own chapped, nervously-bitten ones. Like lightning the kiss left him unable to move, and like lightning it was over as quickly as it had started.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to show you how I felt watching you,” Victor said plainly. They were still so close to each other, nearly sharing the same air.

“H-hold on one second!” Yuuri said suddenly, pulling back. Victor looked confused and maybe even frightened for a split second, but the expression faded when he realized Yuuri was frantically setting his viola back in its case.

“Okay,” Yuuri said. “Okay.” 

And he kissed Victor back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent longer picking out concertos for these nerds than I ever did picking them out for myself whoops. If you only have time to listen to one listen to Yuuri's  
> Victor (last year): [Barber violin concerto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6J9LIakI20)  
> Chris: [Dvorak cello concerto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llB7NaWLUc4)  
> Yurio: [Tchaikovsky violin concerto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbJZeNlrYKg)  
> Yuuri: [Rhapsody-concerto](https://youtu.be/w3Cj867P2Y8?t=21s)
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](tripleorderoftopperstix.tumblr.com) so come yell at me about things and I will probably yell back

**Author's Note:**

> Hey mom look I'm actually using my overpriced music degree! 
> 
> Translations:  
> Affettuoso - with affect (that is, emotion)  
> Allegro ma non troppo - lively, but not too much  
> the other Italian musical markings are (I hope!) clear from context but just drop a comment if you want to know more
> 
> In case you missed the link in the chapter, the piece Yurio and Yuuri are playing is the Handel-Halvorsen Passacaglia and you really should listen to it to understand Yuuri's struggles learning it in like three days. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZawzc8HJio
> 
> Ninja edit: this site ate over half the chapter?? It should end with Yuuri texting that the plans sound good so pleeease let me know if it doesn't!!


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